


The Things The Birds Lose

by toastpiercer



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Gen, LGBTQ Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastpiercer/pseuds/toastpiercer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I didn't want to say anything at first," Jesse said. "Because like, it's not cool to you know, stereotype people and sh-- stuff. But, uh. I think I've noticed something. Uh, about you. That is."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After the events of <i>Salud</i>, Jesse risks a personal conversation with his boss/weird-uncle-figure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things The Birds Lose

In times of greater stress, Gus often stayed behind after closing at the original Albuquerque location and went over the whole place with a rag until it shone, as clean and as perfect as a new jewel box. 

It was the kind of personal care he tried to devote to every aspect of his life. There was more money to be made in chemistry, true, but he took a genuine interest in LPH nevertheless. It was good, honest work. He imagined he felt about cultivating the business the same way another man might feel about pruning a bonsai tree, or raking a zen garden. 

More than profitable, it was a generally well-respected establishment. Gus saved many of the reviews, and laminated the best ones for display. They had been awarded the ABQ Beat award for Best Regional Chain again year, the third time in a row. The food editor at the magazine had doled out exceptional praise for the original recipe, as usual. Gus wondered if hearing such things would ever fail to make his breath catch in his throat, to sound a distant echo of pride in his heart. 

From across the dining room, Jesse Pinkman sighed loudly and slumped back in his booth, gazing out idly at the empty parking lot. In light of the escalating tension with the remainder of the cartel, he had volunteered to help escort Gus home, a surprising gesture. Gus hoped he could take his solemn eyes as a sign that his loyalties were starting to shift. 

"I'll be done shortly, Jesse," Gus called to him. "Thank you for your patience." 

Jesse whipped his head around and winced. "No, that's... Take your time!" he called back. "No problem! I've got nowhere to be." 

This was a lie, Gus knew, but a well-intentioned one. Jesse had a young lady at home, and a little boy. Gus had met them on their own once, when she had brought her son into the restaurant for lunch. It had given him pause to see them without Jesse, out of context, it seemed. The young lady's gentleness was magnetizing. And the boy was filled with brilliant, uncomplicated joy. Altogether, it seemed, the three of them comprised a well-matched set.

"Five minutes," Gus promised. Someone had spilled a great deal of Mr. Pibb on the floor near the soda fountain. It was tacky under Gus' feet, sticking the rubber soles of his shoes to the terracotta. Francesca must not have gotten it all when she was mopping up. Understandable. For such things, one really needed to get on one's hands and knees and scrub. 

When Gus had gotten the last of it, he was startled to find Jesse looming over him. "Five minutes," he promised again, flashing a reassuring smile. "We'll be out of here very soon." 

"No! I. That's not," Jesse began, wriggling a little from side to side. "I was actually hoping. While we're here, do you mind if... Can I talk to you? About something?"

"What is it about?"

From down on the floor, Gus could see a little sweet and sour sauce crusting on the side of the nearest booth, fading maroon as it dried. 

Jesse plopped unceremoniously down beside him and crossed his legs. "Well. It's like, it's a little, uh, personal," he warned. "You can say no." 

Gus continued scrubbing. The tacky inner part of the clump came away, but the harder ring around the edges wouldn't dissolve. Gus sprayed it again, until the solution ran down to form a little puddle on the floor. He folded the rag into a point and tore into it in small, vicious circles. It helped to imagine Salamanca's face.

"But it's not like, it's no judgement or anything, you know?" Pinkman continued. "I have a ton, a ton of respect for you. I really mean that." 

It was hard to resist the Jesse's clear-eyed earnestness. "Go ahead," Gus sighed. 

"So... my aunt, we were really close and she had a lot of friends. And a lot of those friends. I mean, she was really into theater, and stuff, you know? Art."

Jesse swallowed hard, and tugged on the back of his neck. He studied Gus' face anxiously, looking for any sign of irritation, displeasure. Finding none, he pressed on. 

"I didn't want to say anything at first," he said. "Because like, it's not cool to you know, stereotype people and sh-- stuff. But, uh. I think I've noticed something. Uh, about you. That is." 

A cold shock ran through Gus, shooting from his heart down into his fingertips. It was so different from the familiar hot flash of anger and the constant, heavy ache of grief that it took him a moment to identify as fear.

It was an old fear, and an unwelcome one to find again after all these years. How frustrating it was to be so paralyzed by something so familiar. 

"Like, when we were in Mexico," Jesse continued. "I know you would have been really nervous about like, your, you know, plans, and everything? But like, I was nervous I was gonna end up working for those doucheb-- uh, sorry, dirtbags, for the rest of my life, but I still noticed that most of the girls at the party were like, total, total babes." 

Jesse began speaking very quickly, the start of each new word crashing up against the end of the last. "It was hard not to. But you, uh, you didn't even look. Gus, are you, uh..." 

Besides the two of them, the restaurant was completely vacant. All the same, Jesse looked over his shoulder furtively, and scooted in closer. 

"Gus, you're gay, right?" he whispered, breath kissing against Gus' ear.

Gus wondered for a moment how he should respond. If he should deny it, or reprimand Jesse for having indeed crossed a line. After a beat had passed, it was out of his hands. His lack of reaction was confirmation enough. Jesse nodded in understanding.

"Okay," Jesse said. "Yeah, I thought... I know this is, uh, this is really, really none of my business. But I saw your house the other day, when we were taking you home, and, I dunno. It just seemed empty." 

The bright kindness in Jesse's face made Gus' chest ache. He focused on his breathing, deep and slow and steady, and trusted his face not to betray him. 

"So I guess I'm just saying, I just wanted you to know, that there's no reason, like with the modern age and everything, that you should have to be alone, anymore," Jesse concluded. "I mean, I know you grew up in a different time, but things aren't really that way anymore. People wouldn't mind. And I think, I dunno, I think you would probably have like, a lot to offer. Someone." 

Jesse furrowed his brow in concern, in compassion. Gus hated how easy it was to see right through him. Another rough-edged young man walking through life with his heart in his hands. As transparent as glass, and just as fragile. Gus had known for a long time that he didn't deserve even to know such people, let alone to have their trust. 

"It's very kind of you to say so," Gus said, remorse settling like a stone in his throat. "Thank you." 

Jesse patted Gus' shoulder, three ginger, awkward taps. He was a fine young man, one who deserved much better than the life he was leading. Gus closed his eyes for a moment, and let himself hope that one day Jesse might realize it for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> _If you ask me where I have been  
>  I have to say “it happens.”  
> I have to speak of ground darkened by stones,  
> of the river that enduring destroys itself:  
> I know only the things that birds lose_
> 
> "There Is No Oblivion," by Pablo Neruda.


End file.
